


And This Is

by orphan_account



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Cliffhangers, Hope, Last Time, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-07 03:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12832149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sick.





	1. Chapter 1

It all really started on that Sunday night, when I’d laid down on the sofa. “My head is _boiling,”_ I shouted across the house. “Can you get me some water? Maybe something to knock me out?”

The house was silent for a few seconds, and I feared that he’d gone out. But then he called back, “Sure, gimme a sec, I have to finish this paragraph.”

“Alright.” He’d been working on that proposal for _weeks,_ and I had no doubt it reached the page count a long time ago. But he’d been working for that promotion for a _long_ time, probably months or years, maybe even before I met him. And he actually had a chance, this time. His boss was close to him, and his work in the field was _fantastic._ I’d tried to read it, once, and understood nothing. 

A few minutes ended up being half an hour, but I didn’t mind. Laying on the sofa wasn’t too bad, and I’d had time to count a bunch of dots on the ceiling. It took about a hundred for him to rush into the room, frightened, as if he had left me waiting for years. “Sorry,” he muttered, coming around to my side of the sofa. “Are you okay? That took longer than I thought.”

“It’s nothing,” I mumbled, even though my headache had doubled. I gratefully took the water and swallowed it down in only a few gulps. “Thank you. D’you have an asprin or something?”

“Yeah,” he replied, heading to the kitchen. “Want anything to eat?”

“Nah, just the meds.”

“Mm.” He came back with a tiny white pill in one hand and another glass of water in the other, and I drank down both. 

“Thanks.”

“What d’you think it is?” he asked, and I shrugged. To be honest, my head had been bugging me for a few days prior, but I didn’t think it was anything much. But that day, all of a sudden, everything seemed magnified and I’d caught a massive fever. A bit of nausea tinged my stomach, but I didn’t really feel like I was going to vomit that much. It was mostly from sheer nervousness. 

“The flu?” I suggested, then shook my head, remembering I’d gotten my flu shot only a few weeks before. “No, I don’t know. Probably a head cold.”

He smiled, knelt down, and kissed my cheek. “You’re strong. You’ll get through it in a few days.”

“Let’s hope,” I muttered back, and gave him a gentle smile. “I think I’m gonna take off work for a bit, though. Probably shouldn’t be running around the shop while I’m ill, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m sure Alex can step up. He’s a pretty smart guy, and seems to know what he’s doing.” He thought for a second. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

I shook my head. “No, you’ve gotta keep your attendance up if you’re gonna get that promotion. Which I’m sure you’re gonna get,” I added, lifting one of my hands up to stroke his cheek. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the dark stubble scratched the palm of my hand. 

He smiled, moving a bit into my touch. “I hope.”

He went back to his room, then, and the clacking of computer keys soothed me into a light sleep.

The head cold ended up not going away after a few days, though, and I felt miserable for most of the week. My entire body felt like flames, and no amount of cold showers or air condition would make me feel cooler. He suggested that I go to the doctor, but I shook it off, insisting that I’d be fine the next day. But by Thursday, I’d still not gotten any better.

I found it on Friday. I’m still not sure if it was because of the cold, but that’s when it all really began.

Another stream of cold water covered my body in a desperate attempt to cool myself down. It was my second shower of the day, and I still boiled under the freezing water. I attempted to actually wash myself, lathering soap onto my legs, when I first felt it.

I didn’t think much of it, but I couldn’t stop stroking it. It was strange, but it looked the same as the rest of my skin, so I sort of ignored it, continuing to wash of the rest of my heated skin. When I stepped out of the shower and into bed, him already sitting and reading, I decided to tell him. He’d probably know, he was wicked smart and was always looking up random shit at the library. So, as I slipped on a pair of boxers and a clean t-shirt, I asked, “Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you check out my leg? It feels a bit weird.”

“Sure,” he replied, and I climbed onto the bed and threw my leg onto his lap. He placed his book atop a pile of papers next to him, sliding a pair of black reading glasses onto his nose. “Where?”

“Here,” I told him, pointing at the side of my calf. “It’s all weird.”

His fingers ghosted over the area, gently pressing down on where I gestured. “There’s definitely something…” he muttered to himself. “Does it hurt if I press it?” He pushed gently, and I winced slightly.

“It doesn’t really hurt, but it’s… weird, like a weird pressure. It’s like there’s a glove right there.” As his fingers wandered around other parts of my leg, I continued, “See, it doesn’t feel weird over there, or up there on my shin, but right there, where the bump is, it’s just… weird. I can’t describe it. It’s like someone else is pressing it, but I feel your fingers on my skin.”

Chris shook his head, taking his glasses off. “How about we go to the doctor tomorrow?” He smiled at me, but there was a hint of fear in his voice, and that caused a tight knot in my stomach.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“Nothing, it’s just… better safe than sorry, right? Don’t you think? Does your head still hurt? Maybe we can get that checked out, too. Do you think it’s a virus—are you nauseous? You—You sure your leg doesn’t hurt?”

Yeah, something was really wrong. Chris was normally quiet, soft spoken, a man of actions rather than words. He only talked when he absolutely had to, or when he was scared out of his wits. “Chris?” I asked, my voice only a breath, and, despite not knowing what was wrong, I could feel the sharp sensation of tears behind my eyes.

“No, Matt, don’t worry,” he assured me, crawling over the sheets to hold onto my shoulders. “Matt, look at me, okay? Look at me.”

I did, my breaths becoming ragged. “What’s wrong? Chris, is it canc—”

 _“No,_ Matt. No. Don’t think about that, okay? We have to think the best. It’s probably a bump from you h-hitting a table or something on accident.”

It wasn’t a bump from me hitting a table or something on accident. The lie was so blatant, and I tried to not think about it. I tried so hard to convince myself that he was right. “O-Okay,” I nodded, despite knowing that he was lying. He smiled again, and my breaths slowed back to normal. He kissed my cheek, soft and sweet, before pulling my forehead to rest on his.

“I love you, Matt. We’ll go tomorrow, okay? I’ll take off work. Don’t worry about my promotion.”

“I love you too, Chris,” I mumbled, letting him kiss my cheek twice more before I laid down to fall asleep atop the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my inactivity! I've got new chapters of everything in the works. This is only gonna be a few chapters long, and it's a break from my usual stuff. (I've got a bit of writer's block.)


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” the doctor asked, and I shivered. 

“Good news,” Chris murmured, and I could tell he felt the same as I did. The way his jaw sat so purposefully set, teeth clenched, eyes pointed directly ahead—dread and fear controlled his entire face, much like I assumed it did mine.

The doctor shifted. “Well, Matt, your cold is really just a cold. It should go away in a few more days.” She smiled a tad, and I looked away. Of course she would attempt to taunt me, try to make everything seem better when my entire life teetered on the brink of oblivion.

“What’s the bad news?”

As expected, her face fell, and she studied his chart for a second. “I’ve… Matt, are you sure you want to hear this? I can give you more ti—” she tried, attempting to delay telling me, but I shook my head.

“Tell me now.”

She swallowed. “Er, the… the bump in your leg appears to be a stage three sarcoma tumor. It’s relatively large, but it thankfully hasn’t spread anywhere else yet, although I would consider….”

The doctor’s voice faded away as I replayed her words in my head over and over again. _Stage three. Sarcoma. Stage three tumor. Cancer. You have cancer. Stage three cancer. Sarcoma. Cancer. You have cancer. You’re going to die._

“Matt?” Chris asked, and I started to blink rapidly. “No, Matt, come on, Matt, look at me,” he started to whisper, taking my head in his hands as my breaths got ragged. “Look at me.”

You have cancer. Stage three cancer.

I couldn’t, even though he stood right in front of me. My eyes darted around, and I could feel myself hyperventilating as each breath became shallower. I needed air. “Chris,” I whispered.

_Stage three cancer. Sarcoma._

“Matt, I’m right here. Look at me. Look at me, please.”

_Cancer. You’re going to die._

I managed to focus on his face for a few seconds, and he told me, “Breathe, look, breathe with me, okay?” He took a long breath in, and I desperately tried to follow, but I couldn’t. He didn’t stop, though, and continued to take slow breaths in the hopes that I would follow. My hands shook as they searched for his body, grabbing on to any clothing I could. “Breathe, Matt, I’m right here,” he whispered, and I tried once again to breathe in time with him.

_You’re going to die._

I got a few, before hot and fat tears started to roll down my cheeks. My skin burned with fever as I sank my head into the crook of Chris’s neck. “Slow down, love,” he whispered, and I could feel his chest expanding with each breath. 

_You’re going to die, and Chris is going to be all alone._

“Breathe,” he continued to instruct, and I started once again to follow. Eventually, after long seconds, I breathed at the same rate he did, and my initial fear was consumed completely by utter dread.

_You’re going to leave him all alone._

I pulled away from Chris, only holding onto his hand still. I trembled slightly with a mix of terror and embarrassment. “I… how much time do I have?” I asked the doctor, wanting to get it over with.

“Well, Matt, thankfully, your cancer hasn’t spread to any other part of your body, so you can probably have surgery performed on it at the hospital within two weeks. It may require amputation, if it’s blocking major arteries, but hopefully that isn’t the case. A further biopic is required to truly assess the situation, which you should get done within two weeks.”

_Amputation._

“Do you know which hospital I should send your information to?”

“Could you give us a few?” Chris asked softly, and the doctor nodded and quietly left the room.

I instantly broke down, crying into Chris’s arms. “No, love,” he muttered, holding me close. “You’re gonna be okay, alright? Matt, you’re going to be okay.”

“I’m gonna die,” I whispered, and he pulled me closer. 

_Amputation. Stage three._

“No, you aren’t.”

“You don’t know that. I could be g-gone tomorrow.”

“Matt! Don’t say that.”

_You’re going to die._

I sniffled. “No. Chris, I can’t afford this. I can’t afford chemo or biopics or surgery or therapy or _anything_ I’m gonna need.”

Chris giggled a bit, confusing me for a split second, until he spoke. “You think I’m just going to let you pay for this yourself? I’m going to help. Your parents and your brother will help. My mum and my sister will help. We’ll take out a loan, if we must. We’re all going to help you, Matt, no matter what happens, okay?”

“Chris—”

“We’re basically _married._ I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that you stay with me.”

I sighed. “Chris, what if we can’t? What if—What if it’s too much?”

_You’re going to die. What’s the point?_

He pulled me away, staring directly into my eyes. He looked terrified, but he swallowed and tried to comfort me. “Listen. If you have to lose your leg, then that’s what it’ll take, okay? You’re going to be fine, eventually. The doctor said it’s hardly life threatening if you get it removed, and we’re gonna get it removed.”

After a few moments, I nodded. “It… It isn’t gonna go away if I don’t think it is.”

“Yeah.” A few moments of silence passed between us, and then he spoke. “How about you go to The Royal Marsden? It’s close to my work, and it specializes in… in cancer care.”

“Chris, that’s—that’s so expensive.”

“I don’t care. Baby, I….” His hands moved up to caress the sides of my face, and his thumb traced over my cheekbones. The smile that graced his face painted sorrow, eyebrows twisted up and lips pulled into his mouth. “You’re beautiful, you know that? You should become a model one day. You’ve got beautiful cheekbones.”

I couldn’t help a trembling laugh escaping my mouth. “You told me that when we first met.”

“I know. I’m gonna keep telling you ‘til you do it.”

“…I don’t know—I don’t know if that’s ever… ever gonna—”

“Hey,” Chris muttered, shushing me. “Hey, shh, listen, even if you have to, y’know, even if you have to get your leg… amputated, you’re still gonna be beautiful. You’ll definitely be a model.”

_Amputation._

I took a breath. “So… so Marsden? In a week?”

“Marsden in a week.”

_Don’t you dare cry anymore._

A few minutes later, the doctor came back in, and we told her about our choice. She smiled at us and assured me that I would be okay, that the hospital I’d be going to was absolutely fantastic and everything would go smoothly. I tried to believe her, giving her a tight smile back. It took roughly an hour to fill out a bunch of paperwork that I’d need to send to the hospital, but once we were finished, we proceeded to go home in a cold grey taxi. My head started to clear up on the way, and I leaned against his shoulder in the car. “I feel a bit better, if that helps,” I muttered, and he grinned.

“Good. I’m gonna make you some soup when we get home, and then we’re gonna have a nice night in, okay?”

I nodded. And that’s exactly what we did.

A week and three other doctor appointments later, I packed a suitcase full of clothes and other assorted belongings, nervous but ready to check into the hospital the next day. And I didn’t want to just go, leave him to wait for me on shitty hospital couches and cold empty beds. 

And so I kissed him, standing on tiptoe to reach his lips. I made sure to follow it with a bite, just so that he knew exactly what I wanted.

“Wanna…?” he asked, and I knew he knew. Instead of replying, I kissed him again, once, twice, and he picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, an arm under my knees and the other behind my back. He laid me out delicately on my back atop the cream comforter, pulling my clothes off at the same time. Article after article fell to the floor as he peeled them away from me until I was completely naked atop the bed. He followed shortly after, until we were able to both meet, skin flush with skin. His fingers, callused as ever, trailed down my chest, stroking at my skin. “You are gorgeous,” he kept repeating, as if to attempt to convince me.

When he looked into my eyes, the lids of his own were red-rimmed and swollen. “We aren’t gonna be able to do this for a while,” he whispered. I could swear I heard the hints of his voice breaking.

“I know,” I replied. “So let’s enjoy it, yeah?”

He nodded, then, and the following kisses to my sternum were the softest things in the world. “I love you,” he whispered, nibbling gently onto the skin that covered my ribs. He treated me like a treasure, like glass, like if he held me too hard I would shatter into a thousand pieces. I hummed in response, my fingers holding onto his head as he trailed further down my body.

He was an angel, the umber stubble along his jaw and cheeks a sharp contrast from the paleness of his skin. Whenever he kissed me, his cheekbones hollowed out, and that alone was one of the most beautiful sights to ever grace my eyes. 

At that point, he reached my cock, which stood half-tall and waiting for him. With a soft smile, he kissed the head, before beginning to lick at the slit. 

I was rarely vocal. Oftentimes, he’d ask me to be louder, asking if he could hear all the little noises that I made. But that’s just what they were—little noises, nothing much. It always seemed that when he took me, I became unable to form anything above a gasp or a whimper. And, as his tongue prodded at the tiny hole atop my swollen dickhead, it was no different. Tiny pants escaped my lips as shock after shock of pleasure flowed through my body. “Chris—” I muttered, my voice only a breath, and he hummed around my cock as his lips spread to take it in the heat of his mouth. 

Every single time he sucked me off, it seemed to get better and better. He hardly did it—I usually preferred to have him filling me up—but when he did, it was _brilliant._ “Chris,” I said once again, his name a prayer, and I gasped as he took me into his mouth completely in a single stroke. 

A slick, wet sound filled the air around us as he started to suck me off. The pressure around me felt immense as his lips gripped tighter onto me, and my fingers clawed onto the sheets as I basked in it. I repeated his name as a plea for more, and he hummed gently around me. With every bob of his head pure bliss wracked my body, and I almost trembled with the feeling of it.

All too soon, with my body halfway towards climax, he pulled away, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe away a bit of spit that dotted his lips. “Can I…?” he asked, and I nodded furiously. 

“Please,” I practically begged as he reached over to the nightstand and popped open the cab of our lube bottle. He put a generous amount on his fingers, which I was thankful for as always, before he climbed on top of me to catch my lips in his. 

Wordlessly, his cold fingers slid between my legs and pressed against my entrance. I squeezed my eyes shut, simply waiting for him to breach me.

And _there_ it was, the unmistakable pleasure of being filled by two of his fingers at once. They pushed at my walls, breaching my core and filling me as much as I could physically take at that moment. “Fuck,” I swore under my breath, pushing my hips towards him. _“Fuck,_ Chris!”

“Talkative today,” he muttered, swirling his fingers in random patterns inside me. "Why so?"

“I need you,” I mumbled, gnawing on my bottom lip as his fingers pulled me further and further open. “It's a need. Please, Chris.”

He chuckled slightly, pushing a third digit into me. The resulting pleasure bordered on pain, so intense that I gasped and swallowed with every slight movement of his. He knew that I couldn't come just from his fingers, and he used that to his advantage, seeking out the sweet spot that would make me cry. When he heard my breath hitch as the pads of his slicked fingers stroked it, a wolfish grin decorated his face, and he began to massage it. His touch felt so delicate yet so forceful, every single push and pull of those thick calluses causing my eyes to squeeze shut, as if a reflex of the desperate desire filling my veins to the brink of capacity.

Sensing that I was close—but not nearly being close enough—he promptly extracted his fingers from me. I groaned a bit at the sudden hollowness I felt, but swallowed back a grunt as I felt his cockhead pushing at the same hole. As he started to enter me, he laid down atop me, maneuvering his arms between my back and the bed to hold me tight as he finally, _finally_ pushed all the way in. 

The sensation was fucking _amazing,_ and mostly because it was slow—I loved when he fucked me slow, as if we had all the time in the world.

I wanted to have all the time in the world.

The way he filled me up was so fantastic, so hot and close, that accompanied with his body holding mine, my flushed and _throbbing_ cock pressed tightly between our sweaty skin, and it made me let out a desperate moan. The sheen of perspiration on both of our skins served as a fantastic lubricant, so that not only was I consumed by the sensation of being filled, but my head swam with the illusion of fucking him as skin rubbed my cock from all sides. I couldn't take the way that my nerves had become raw from his touch, and I could feel every one of his pulsing veins as he pulled out and forced himself back into my willing form. “Chris,” I gasped, winding my arms around him and grasping his hips with my legs so to pull him as close as possible. “Chris, you’re— _nn….”_

He breathed my name onto my neck, suckling gently at a vein on my neck. But he didn’t speed up, keeping each thrust into me even and shallow. He knew, though. He knew that he brushed against my prostate each time, and that’s what made me tremble in his arms. 

When I came, it was with a tiny whimper, and every muscle in my body tightened, gripping onto him like a lifeline. Sticky release fell across my skin, and the hot liquid started to snake down the sides of my torso while he desperately tried to fuck me through those last few waves of utter pleasure. I could feel him let go, eventually, and he shot right into me, tainting and staining and defiling my insides with his release.

We didn’t untangle ourselves for a while, too sensitive and cold to move after having waited too long to pull away. I didn’t mind, though. He was warm and soft and heavy and _so, so perfect atop me,_ and I could lay like that for the rest of my life, with him holding me tight in his arms the whole time. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered, once we were both down from our highs and laying next to each other instead of on top of one another. “This isn’t gonna be the last time we do this.”

“Chris—”

“Even if I have to blow you in a hospital bed.”

That made me laugh, tiny giggles falling from my mouth as I curled closer to him. “I feel bad already for any nurse who walks in.”

“Me too. Imagine the look on their face when they just see a head bobbing under one of those shitty hospital blankets.”

“I don’t want a shitty hospital blanket,” I whined. “Can I keep the comforter?”

Chris let out a mock-exasperated sigh, gathering me up in his arms. We were still sweaty and icky, full of rapidly cooling semen as he groaned, “I _guess.”_

“Can I have the good pillow, too? And—And, can I have the lamp? And the long phone charger? And the—”

“Y'know,” he interrupted, mussing my hair, “if you want all these things, I'm not gonna give up the comforter. Go ahead and take all that—” he bundled the blankets to his side so they fell off my form, “—this is _mine!”_

“Wow, you’re a mean boyfriend,” I pouted, playing along. “Won’t even give up the comforter for a cancer patient. So selfish!”

“What- _ever,”_ he mumbled, but I could tell that my words struck a deep nerve. "You can have it, then."

“Hey,” I said, my voice becoming soft as I moved my hands from where they were pressed against my chest to hold onto his face. “I'm gonna miss this.”

A somewhat goofy grin decorated his face as he replied, “This isn't gonna be the last time, silly.”

“Yeah, but... for a while, I'm gonna be stuck in some dumb hospital bed without you next to me.”

“Oi! I'll sleep next to you, if you want.”

I giggled at the mere thought of that. “Yeah, you won't fit. You're a giant—you already take up most of this bed.”

“Yeah, well, then... then you have to make room for me on your new bed. 'Cause I'm—I'm gonna miss this, too.” Subconsciously or not, I never found out, his foot moved to prod at the growth on my leg. It felt strange, a muted feeling, like listening to someone talk with headphones on or holding hands through a glove. And a shiver sped up my back at the thought of how I was probably never going to feel him like that ever again.

I wasn’t going to cry. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t. So, instead, I pushed myself closer to him. Neither of us said anything.

We fell asleep like that, curled up next to each other, just waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. This was a short one. Just another excuse for me to write porn--even if it's sad porn.


End file.
